(Catalogue #100_1970-1982: 22” x 125”, edition of 100)
I’m intrigued, no spellbound, by Nature, and spend a lot of time watching, being mesmerised, and photographing it. Every once in a while I come across something even more amazing than normal and it gets me thinking…
This scene is exactly as I saw it. I have gone to great lengths to faithfully reproduce what I saw in all its detail. It was a very sharp, cold, blustery, early spring morning. The tide was high and these birds were roosting – unable to feed on the mudflats. They were waiting for the tide to go out.
Some species like the knot (the predominant grey birds in the 8-10,000 strong flock) huddle together to keep warm, whereas others don’t. Huddling together to keep warm is perfectly understandable, so why don’t the other species in the picture do it? It’s not just down to body size – the smaller something is in relation to its mass, the harder it is for it to keep warm – because there are smaller species that don’t huddle – the turnstone (smallest, short-legged black and white birds) for example.
The few individuals of a different species engulfed in the sea of knot – the few lone oystercatchers (big black and white birds with bright red beaks) and the bar-tailed godwits (the long-legged buff-coloured birds with long straight beaks) – almost certainly didn’t land in the middle of all the knot. Instead, they were probably slowly engulfed by them as the numbers of knot coming off the mudflats to roost gradually swelled.
The knot don’t go around in one huge flock like this, rather they normally gather in flocks – of anywhere between a handful to a few hundred. While the tide was out and they were feeding, they would have been in these smaller groups. In the last hour or so as the sea slowly rose and covered their feeding grounds, the scattered flocks would have gradually given up the feeding frenzy and come in to roost. Flying over the shingle bank and into this sheltered hollow on the edge of the gravel pit lagoon, they would have seen some of their own already there and joined them – huddling together. The lone birds of other species would have been on their own initially, but as the mass of knot numbers swelled the “loners” would have been slowly engulfed.
For me this image raises lots of questions. Why did the knot feel comfortable getting that close – literally touching – some of those other species – even some that are significantly bigger than them – and not the cormorant (the big black bird in the middle of the big flock)? Does the cormorant look dangerous to them? Did the cormorant try to attack them? I doubt that very much – since they are fish eaters and are not known to be aggressive to other birds. Is it just the look of the cormorant that makes them feel uneasy? Predators have a knack of looking nasty. So do the knot – and other species for that matter – have an instinct for what-looks-nasty-probably-is-nasty?
And what does nasty look like? Two piercing, forward-looking, eyes; a certain stare-you-down-I’d-like-to-eat-you attitude; a big mouth with a sharp beak or teeth? It is utterly amazing to me how such instincts can be carried in DNA…
What did the cormorant feel – being completely surrounded by a sea of small grey birds that would not get close to it? What did the surrounding knot feel – especially those on the inner edge closest to the cormorant? How did they decide what a safe distance from the cormorant would be?
Does the black-headed gull flying over the huge flock think “bloody hell – that’s a lot of birds!”? Does it even realise that they are birds at all – and not something like stones that it could land on? How did the “loners” feel as they were being slowly surrounded by the knot? How do animals identify themselves? Why are some “outsiders” allowed to get close and not others…?
Going back to the smaller flocks on the mudflats: if there were 8-10,000 individuals in the main roost, and the average size of smaller flocks was 200, then out on the mudflats there must have been somewhere in the region of 40-50 separate flocks of knot. I am interested to know what defines these flocks; how does an individual know it is part of a flock? Is there a leader of each flock? Imagine 200 individual birds foraging in the sand and mud for food: they can’t all spontaneously decide to fly off in the same direction to a roost like the one in the picture – surely one takes the lead? Is it that any one of them can take the lead and all the rest follow? Or is there a flock leader?
Do the members of the flock recognise each other, or is there just some general sense of belonging and not wanting to be left on their own? I’m not sure it can be the latter because when the main roost broke up, it broke up gradually. A succession of small flocks flew off – back to the mud-flats. There wasn’t one almighty exodus. This implies that while other birds were flying off, something kept the others where they were. Was it that no member of their group had taken flight, or did they have a leader who hadn’t taken flight? This behaviour suggests a high level of small flock individuality. If there was a perceived threat like a fox or human getting too close, then I’m sure the whole roost – all 8-10,000 – would have taken flight; but in the normal calm of the roost each small flock seemed to act autonomously – just temporarily taking advantage of the warmth afforded by bigger numbers. I’m not sure we can ever know what is going on in the mind of one of these little birds, but that would be incredibly fascinating to discover…
The parallels between birds and us humans are quite striking. We have our little groups – friends, family, work colleagues, team members, etc. Sometimes we come together in huge crowds – such as sports events, coronations, concerts, evacuations, etc. And when we are in these huge gatherings we are acutely aware of our group and make special effort to keep in contact and move around together – to arrive and depart together. Something may trigger us all to move off together – like the end of an event, or a fire, but we still keep to our personal group wherever possible. There is usually a leader…
I am also interested in how comfortable we are for different people to get close to us. Speaking for myself, generally I am happy for strangers to get within a couple of feet from me (unless they look nasty or threatening); I generally don’t like men to touch me at all, but for male friends it’s okay; I’m happy for women and children to get very close and even touch me; and it is very special and highly desirable for a woman I’m attracted to to get close and touch me. Indeed, such a woman could trigger off an adrenalin rush – where my whole mind and body would become fixated, excited, and physiologically charged… I’ve no reason to suppose this is abnormal human behaviour…
As for the closeness we will allow other species to get to us, this very much depends on our familiarity with the species, knowledge of their likely behaviour, and our knowledge of specific individuals and their moods. Generally we are comfortable with cats and dogs (the species depends on the cultural norm – so it might be different species in different cultures), but some people are allergic to them, or allergic to specific ones; some people have had bad experiences with them and won’t go near them. Suffice it is to say, familiarity and affection draw us together; unfamiliarity and fear push us apart. It is interesting to note that the young of most species are very cute – giving us the innate feeling of warmth and affection towards them, and wanting to touch them and give them everything they need… It is interesting that many species are programmed to respond in similar ways to cuteness and nastiness…
There is a semi-autobiographical aspect to the picture as well. At the time of writing this and through no fault of my own, I have no family and very few friends, and I spend a great deal of time on my own (most of the time that is through choice as I am very focused on what I want to achieve in life). I often find myself in groups or crowds feeling quite alone – so I can relate to the cormorant… Which of the birds do you relate to…?
Cambridge, England 28/10/2004
Diary Of An Artist 